


wake up next to a stranger (on a passenger plane)

by favoriterecords



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Airplanes, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Kinda, M/M, Peter is Tony's kid, Superhusbands, peter might as well be steve's kid too at this point, steve is a depressed mess™, tony owns stark industries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 11:28:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/favoriterecords/pseuds/favoriterecords
Summary: prompt: you fell asleep and i started making funny faces at your kid to keep them amused and the steward mistook us for a couple auor, alternately, tony stark needs more sleep & steve rogers can be good with kids. peter is a wonderful kid, really.





	wake up next to a stranger (on a passenger plane)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [papergalaxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/papergalaxy/gifts).



> title taken from "20 dollar nosebleed" by fall out boy. 
> 
> also happy birthday to papergalaxy! i finished this crap at 7 pm today so here i guess i'm throwing this at you. apologies.

Tony began regretting not simply taking the private jet as soon as he got to the airport.

“Peter, no, you don’t have to take your pants off at the security line,” Tony sighed. Peter giggled; Tony’s four-year-old son was taking after him way quicker than he’d like to think. Scooping Peter up with one hand and balancing him on his hip, Tony waltzed his way through the security line, only to have to go through it again because he had forgotten about taking out a couple unreleased StarkPhone models from his bag.

 _Why hadn’t he just taken the private jet again? He was just going to leave his Malibu residence for a bit to drop off Peter at his aunt May’s house in Queens for the week. No big deal…_ Oh yeah, something about Pepper and her insistence on getting Tony to “get out more”. Yeah, sure, Pepper may be his best friend, but sometimes they didn’t see eye-to-eye on things. Apparently, isolating in his lab for a week and a half wasn’t Pepper’s idea of a good time.

“You need to surround yourself with other people, Tony,” she had said. “Being around people can be healthy. When’s the last time you talked to someone that wasn’t me or Rhodes or Peter?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony had responded immediately.

Pepper had looked shocked. “Who did you talk to on Friday? I remember calling you that afternoon and-“

“No,” Tony had corrected, “FRIDAY. My AI? I talk to her all the time.”

Pepper had snorted and booked the airplane tickets, American Airlines flight #708.

Which is precisely why Tony now found himself sitting among the rest of the passengers, waiting for the plane to start boarding. Peter, so far, had been fairly manageable; he sat next to Tony, brows furrowed in a cute thinking face as he tried to create a... a _something_ out of the Legos that Tony had let him bring. Tony looked down at his son and smiled; the kid was something of an engineer already and Tony couldn’t have been more proud.

“Daddy, that man was staring at you,” Peter informs him, effectively taking Tony out of his thoughts. It wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to; occasionally people recognized him as the Genius Billionaire Playboy Philanthropist Tony Stark, head of Stark Industries. He just wished he was invisible sometimes. He didn’t like people all that much, save maybe Pepper and Rhodey only because they were the only friends that could put up with him, and Peter because, well, he was Peter and he was four.

“That one!” Peter whispered dramatically, pointing straight at the culprit with a tiny finger, and as Tony’s eyes traveled to where his son was pointing, he expected it to be a surly old man snapping pictures for his Facebook, or a tired person on a business trip double checking to confirm that Tony was who they thought he was. As his eyes fell upon the person in question, however, Tony froze for a minute.

This guy was hot; his American flag shirt accentuating his body perfectly. Golden hair, broad shoulders, faint blush dusting his cheeks, and those lips, Tony could just _imagine_ the way the guy’s mouth would look if-

Tony came to his senses a second too late, pushing Peter’s pointing finger back down towards his Legos and frantically whispering _don’t point at people in public, Petey, oh my god_ as the _ridiculously hot_ guy blushed furiously and looked down at his lap.

Hm. Maybe not taking the private jet could be okay after all.

* * *

Steve didn’t really feel like going home. Brooklyn seemed kind of empty to him, a wasteland of old memories left behind after everyone he loved had gone. His mother, Bucky, Peggy—gone. But he had to return; as much as it sounded appealing to just stay here in California forever, he couldn’t just ‘travel the country’ as an excuse to wallow in his thoughts.

So here Steve was, slumping in his seat at gate 21A, where nonstop service from LAX to JFK was going to start boarding in ten minutes. Fantastic.

Except maybe it really wasn’t fantastic, because Steve _really_ didn’t want to go back home, and looking up from his hunched position may not have been the right thing to do right then, because oh god this really wasn’t fantastic, there was a cute guy with a cute kid two rows ahead of him and _Steve this was not the time to start thirsting over the pretty boy he saw at the airport terminal, goddamnit_.

Problem: Steve couldn’t stop _staring_. Way to go, Rogers.

That turned into a bigger problem when the kid—the adorable kid in a little Spider-Man hoodie, with fluffy brown hair and big, curious eyes—suddenly pointed a little finger straight in Steve’s direction, glancing up at the hot guy ( _kid’s father?_ , Steve wondered) and whispering.

Steve could only pull his eyes away from the dark-haired man as they made eye contact, the guy abruptly looking embarrassed but yet _amused?_ as he turned his attention back to who Steve assumed was his son.

When he finally got the nerve to sneak another glance exactly 7 minutes later, Steve could’ve sworn there was the tiniest of smirks plastered on the man’s face.

A voice crackled over the intercom, calling all first-class passengers to board the aircraft. The man grinned and scooped up the kid’s Legos in one swift movement, zipping them up in the little blue and red backpack resting on the boy’s shoulders, and stood up, grasping little Spider-Boy’s hand.

Just Steve’s luck that the guy would be in first class. Steve was never going to see this man again; his sorry ass was gonna be stuck in economy. Saving money, his ass. Steve eyed the man’s well-worn faded AC/DC shirt and baggy jeans; he didn’t seem ultra-rich or anything. Was Steve overreacting about not buying a first-class ticket for himself? No — okay, well, he was just a little salty.

_Relax, Rogers. The man was just some stupid ten-minute crush. Nothing wrong with some healthy thirsting over hot men in airport terminals._

Steve sighed, and leaned back in his seat to wait for when he’d be called down for boarding.

* * *

It was a shame, Tony thought, that pretty boy Mr. American Flag Shirt was kind of… gone. From his life. Forever. _Why hadn’t he just asked Pepper to book the economy seats?_ He tried to imagine how _that_ conversation would go.

“Daddy?”

Peter’s voice, once again, pulled Tony out of his thoughts. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

It appeared that Peter had discovered the little booklets in front of his seat. You know, the ones with the What To Do If The Airplane Crashes Into The Water protocols, among others. As people continued filing into their seats towards the back of the airplane, Peter curiously looked at the emergency protocol pictures, and let out a giggle.

“What’s so funny, kiddo? Crash landings seem entertaining to you?” Tony inquired, brows furrowing. “What’s next? Murder? Hilarious, Petey,” he muttered to himself, cracking a small grin.

Peter pointed to a diagram and squealed gleefully. “There are giant yellow slides on the plane! Like at the playground!”

Tony chuckled. “Not quite the same as the playground, bud. These ones are for emergencies. Although,” he continued under his breath, “the Stark jets have better evacuation tech.”

Peter tilted his head. “Emergencies? Like if someone has to pee really bad?”

Tony laughed, his smile spreading across his face, eyes shining. This kid was going to be the death of him.

Tony’s laughs, however, slowly subsided into yawns. He was pretty tired. It didn’t help that he was up last night working in his lab. And the night before that. And the night before that. And now his brain decided that right now would be the perfect time to take a nap, leaning right against the airplane window.

Tony’s sleep schedule was fucked as it was. He didn’t want to fuck it up even more, so he yawned once again and reached into his carry-on for some StarkPhone to hand to Peter to keep him occupied while Tony slept. As the last of the stragglers boarded the plane, Tony handed his son one of the unreleased StarkPhone models with a quick _make sure you don’t give this to anyone, Petey, it’s a secret phone_ and settled into his seat for a quick shut-eye. Of course, this wasn’t a Stark Industries jet, but it’d do. _Less leg room on these_ , Tony thought. _Too many people._ He set a mental reminder to call Pepper and tell her he didn’t want to fly on a commercial plane again. Although, Tony thought sleepily, he was sure she already knew that.

* * *

Steve slowly shuffled along with the rest of the passengers down the aisle, finally locating his row near the right wing of the airplane and ducking into his seat. Just a few more hours, and he’d be home. It was funny, Steve thought bitterly. He had spent the last few months of his life flying around the world, trying to distract himself from his life by touring Nashville and Boston and LA, but yet his life was ultimately unescapable. He had to go home _someday_. Leaning against the airplane window, Steve quietly sighed, pulling out his headphones and fitting them over his ears.

“Mr. Rogers?”

Steve jerked his head up, meeting the soft green eyes of a flight attendant. Pulling off his headphones, Steve mumbled some affirmative noises. _Please kick me off the plane_ , he caught himself thinking. _Maybe there’s too many passengers and they’re kicking me off the flight and I’ll have to stay at the airport another night and-_

“Mr. Rogers, you’ve been upgraded.”

 _-oh God, please, I don’t want to go back home-_ “Wait, what?”

The flight attendant smiled. “There’s an empty seat up in first class and your frequent flyer miles have made you eligible to move up there.” Noticing Steve’s slight frown, she hurriedly continued. “Or— or if you wouldn’t like to, well, that’s fine as well, we’re just asking you first because you were on the top of the list-“

Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “No, it’s fine, I’ll take it,” he rushed out, offering a small smile.

“Excellent. Now if you’d just come this way,” the flight attendant directed, “I’ll show you to your new seat.”

Five minutes later, Steve found himself sticking his suitcase into a first-class compartment and stretching out his legs in front of him, with—surprise!—the _cute guy’s cute kid_ sitting right next to him and the _cute guy himself_ cutely fast asleep next to the kid, against the airplane window.

Maybe Steve was okay with his flight home, if it meant sitting next to those two.

As the aircraft began slowly moving towards the runway and the flight attendants stepped to the middle of the aisles to demonstrate the safety procedures, the kid looked up from the device he was holding ( _what kind of phone_ was _that, it looked like it belonged in the next decade_ ), and then, with a look of understanding, reached in front of him to pull out one of those safety booklets with the emergency protocols. Watching the flight attendant in front of them feign putting on an oxygen mask, the kid looked down at the booklet in his lap, brows furrowed as he made the connection between what he was watching and what was in the booklet.

 _Damn_ , Steve thought, _the kid was smart._ He must’ve been no older than three or four. _Not to mention insanely adorable_ , he thought, his brain unhelpfully supplying the fact that _so was the kid’s father, now lightly snoring into the window_.

The flight attendants were done with the safety demonstrations and the plane had begun to pick up speed on the runway when the kid looked up from his uh, _futuristic-looking phone? Steve really didn’t know that much about technology_ , with a slightly terrified look on his face, small fingers tightly gripping the armrests.

Steve had been on a plane next to young children enough times to know what was going to happen next.

Except no, he was determined not to let this kid cry. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to the kid. “It’ll be okay, you’re okay. Have you ever been on a plane before?”

The kid blinked and turned towards Steve as the plane hurtled down the runway, knuckles white as he gripped the armrests harder, squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded. “Y-Yeah. But I don’t like this plane. The planes Daddy always goes on are—are different,” the kid explained with wide eyes. “Less p-people and quiet and less scary.”

Steve frowned. What kinds of airplanes did the guy go on? Steve reached over and reassuringly held the kid’s hand. He didn’t want the sleeping guy to wake up; the kid’s father had looked tired. He didn’t want to see the kid cry, either. And he could already guess what the other passengers thought of a crying child on the plane. Steve leaned over, muttering comforting words under his breath as the airplane finally lifted off the ground and the kid hesitantly turned towards the window to see. As the kid looked over his still-sleeping father to the window, Steve saw the child’s muscles instantly relax, and he loosened his grip on the boy’s hand. The kid turned around, facing Steve, and smiled shyly.

Steve grinned. “Better now?”

The kid nodded and giggled. “Look, we’re flying! We’re flying,-” The kid paused. “My name’s Peter. What’s your name?”

“Steve,” Steve helpfully supplied.

The kid—Peter—seemed satisfied. “We’re flying, Steve!” he squealed, making small airplane noises.

Steve smiled, and maybe this was the lightest he had felt in months, but he didn’t let himself think about that.

Soon enough, the flight attendant came around with the beverage cart and stopped in front of Steve and Peter, asking them what they’d like. Peter glanced at Steve, unsure.

“You can pick out a drink, buddy,” Steve explained. “Here, do you want apple juice?” Steve knew that he should probably be waking Peter’s father; he didn’t even know if the kid was _allergic_ to apple juice or something, but the dark-haired man was sleeping so peacefully and Steve didn’t want to disturb him. And besides, by the way Peter was nodding enthusiastically to the idea of apple juice, Steve gathered that he’d had apple juice before. Meaning that Peter would probably be okay.

Steve smiled at the flight attendant. “He’ll get some apple juice. And I’ll just have some water, thank you. No ice, please.”

The flight attendant returned a soft smile. “And would your husband like something as well?” she asked, gesturing over to the still-sleeping form of Peter’s hot father.

Steve almost choked. “He’s not my— I’m not, we’re not—“ he spluttered, turning bright red and looking down as Peter finally understood what was going on and began giggling. _This kid was really perceptive_ , Steve thought, fighting off his blush.

The flight attendant gave a soft _oh_ and apologized, her face displaying a sheepish grin as she handed Steve and Peter their drinks, as well as two packets of crackers, and moved on to the next individual. As soon as she was down the rows, out of sight, Steve dared to look up at the sleeping man again. God, he was hot. Husband, huh? _A man could dream_ , Steve sighed. He didn’t even know anything about the man. He didn’t even know if Peter was even the guy’s son. And besides, for all he knew, the guy could simply be on a flight with his son Peter to return to his home where his hot wife was waiting for the two. And the cherry on top: _straight people existed, Steve, oh my god._

Steve wanted some answers.

“So he’s your dad, huh, Peter?”

Peter swallowed the last of his apple juice and turned to Steve. “Yeah,” he said, glancing over at the man, now snoring softly. “He’s sleepy. He doesn’t sleep every day.” Peter dropped his voice to a whisper and continued. “Daddy thinks I don’t know but I know. He’s supposed to take this medicine to help him sleep but he doesn’t.”

Oh. Steve felt a rush of something like relief that he hadn’t woken the man after all.

“So it’s just him and you, then?” Steve asked, desperately hoping the answer would be in the affirmative. Steve didn’t even know why it mattered to him. It wasn’t like he was thinking of actually _dating_ the guy, _damnit Steve, you can’t just date a guy you made eye contact with at the airport_.

But Peter said _yeah, it’s just Daddy and I, but I’m going to visit Aunt May right now_ and Steve felt something blooming inside him, something that felt a lot like _hope_. Steve clamped it down.

Peter slid lower in his seat, a pout clouding his features. “Anyways, I’m _bored_! And Daddy’s sleeping and I finished my apple juice and this phone died,” Peter whined, waving around the futuristic device, “and I wanna walk around! _Steeeve_ , can we walk around? My legs hurt!”

Steve sighed, and pictured what would happen if Peter’s father woke up with no Peter next to him. Yeah, no. Bad idea. “Sorry, kid. I can’t walk around with you. Eat your crackers,” he suggested, gesturing to the unopened packet in Peter’s lap.

Peter frowned. “But I always walk around on the planes Daddy goes on! Also — also I can’t open the bag,” the boy admitted sheepishly.

“Then you can walk around when Daddy-“ Steve swallowed, willing the blush off his face. “-I mean, when _your dad_ wakes up.” God, Steve was screwed. He offered to open Peter’s bag of crackers.

Peter squinted at Steve, thinking, and then pointed an accusing finger at Steve. “You _like_ him!” he exclaimed gleefully. “Y’want to _marry_ him like the apple juice lady said!”

Steve turned a brighter shade of red. “Not true! I-I didn’t even _say_ anything, how could you even know, you’re only like _four years old_ -“

Peter squinted harder. “How do you know how old I am? And because you look like a tomato, silly! Michelle at preschool said if your face turns red, it means you _like-like_ someone!”

“I — lucky guess,” Steve grumbled. “And for the record, I _don’t_ like your father.” _I_ like-like _him though_ , the childish side of Steve thought. _Shut up, Rogers._

Peter frowned. “Why don’t you like him? He’s not that bad, I promise, okay, well this morning he wouldn’t let me have the last Skittle, but still, don’t be mean to him! It was just an orange Skittle!” Peter hovered a hand over the unmoving lump that was Peter’s dad. “If you don’t say you like him I’ll wake him up!” Peter threatened with a grin.

“Peter, no, listen-“ Steve tried frantically. “Don’t- don’t wake him up!”

Peter’s face took on an evil grin and he lowered his hand further above the sleeping man’s shoulder. “I don’t even like the orange Skittles.” There were probably like five inches between Peter’s hand and the man’s body.

“Peter, _no_! Let him sleep, oh, for Pete’s sake. Fine, _fine_ , maybe I do like him—“

The dark-haired man stirred, and Steve froze. Peter withdrew his hovering hand immediately, his features etched with surprise, saying something that Steve thought sounded a lot like _I didn’t do it, promise_.

Steve was gonna _murder_ the cutest kid in existence at 35,000 feet above the ground.

* * *

Tony blinked and rubbed his eyes, lifting his head off of where it was resting against the airplane window. Had he been sleeping for too long? He turned to ask Peter to check what time it was on the StarkPhone — and then froze.

Mr. American Flag Shirt was sitting _right there, next to Peter_. Maybe Pepper was right. Sleep _did_ fix all problems.

Tony shot the guy a lopsided grin, running his fingers through his natural just-woke-up hair. “Hey, Stars and Stripes.”

Peter poked him in his side. “Daddy! His name is _Steve_ , and he said he likes—“

Steve turned the reddest that he’d been all day, and shot Peter a look that clearly said _one more word out of you, and I’ll tell Michelle at preschool that you like-like her_. Which of course, shut Peter up effectively.

Tony grinned wider and chuckled. “I see you’ve met my son Peter. I’m Tony, by the way. Now, what is it that Peter said you like, Star Spangled Banner?”

Steve scowled at Peter. “Nothing. I, uh, we were just talking about the crackers. How good these—these crackers are, right, Peter? Really, quite tasty,” he finished, lamely waving around his own unopened package so Tony could see.

Peter frowned. “You didn’t even open yours. D’you need help? I figured out how you open them by yourself.”

Tony looked amused. Steve tried to mentally calculate his chances of survival if he were to jump out the airplane window.

“You wouldn’t know,” Steve said defensively, turning to Tony. “You were asleep when they handed out the crackers.”

“So then toss them over here,” Tony challenged, hands outstretched and a devious smirk plastering his face. “I wanna try one.”

 _Where did I go wrong with my life_ , Steve thought, hesitating for a second before sighing and handing the bag to Peter, _(who seemed quite entertained watching this all unfold, the little shit)_ who passed the bag on to Tony.

Tony locked eyes with Steve, and ripped the bag open with his teeth in what was probably the hottest instance of bag-opening in the world. Steve swallowed, hard. Peter looked like he had just seen the secrets of the universe.

 _You and me both, Peter_ , Steve thought miserably.

“How—how do you open them like that?” Peter looked stunned.

Tony grinned at the two and popped a cracker in his mouth. Steve looked at him expectantly with bated breath. Peter looked confused, and began fiddling with the TV screen in front of him, clearly bored of Steve and Tony’s antics.

Well, that was fine because Steve had had enough, too.

So much for a distraction. Tony wasn’t a distraction; Tony was the opposite of a little distraction. Tony demanded to be seen front and center, was meant to be given full attention as he pulled Steve in and messed with his heart.

And what was the point? Here Steve was, on a flight heading straight back to the heart of his misery, where he’d spend his days lying in bed tracing patterns in the ceiling with his eyes. If Bucky were still here, if Peggy were still here, hell, if his mother were still alive and well and _here_ , things would be different. And here came Tony, with his obnoxious grin and fucking stupid chocolate eyes and _was Steve really forgetting that this was some random guy he met at the airport-_

“Hey, Spangles? Spangles? _Steve?_ Are you okay?”

Steve blinked and his eyes focused in on Tony, who was looking at him worriedly. “Yeah,” he exhaled shakily. “Yeah, I’m fine, really, so, uh, how were those crackers?”

Tony paused. “You know I’m not buying it, right? What’s up, Stevie? Pretty boy like you deserves to be happy, don’t ya think?”

Steve flushed. “The _pretty boy_ is _trying_ to be happy.”

Tony cocked his head. “And how is that working out for him? Good, I hope?”

“Not really,” Steve admitted. _Way to go, Rogers, tell the guy your entire life story while you’re at it._

Tony frowned. “Why is that?”

“He,” Steve paused. _Fuck it._ “He doesn’t want to go back home ‘cause hisfriendsareallfuckingdead,” Steve admitted with a watery laugh.

And once Steve started, he found that he couldn’t stop. “And he’s scared of going back to his empty apartment because he’s spent the last few months around the country trying to distract himself, but distractions can’t last forever, he knows that, _god_ he knows that, so he has to go home and sit on the hill next to the pizzeria again and fucking draw random pedestrians in his sketchbook because he’ll have nothing better to do-“

“Shhhhh,” Tony breathed, reaching out an arm over Peter, who was now transfixed on his TV screen, and hesitantly taking Steve’s in his. Ironic. Steve had just done the same to Peter not too long ago. Steve voiced this thought to Tony, who smiled.

“You were really good with him, you know.”

Steve stared. “How did you — did you see, I thought you were sleeping, uh-“

Tony rubbed soothing circles into Steve’s hand. “No, you’re right, I was sleeping. But I can tell. Peter seems relaxed. And he really likes you,” Tony smiled, and then under his breath added, “As do I.”

Steve felt his cheeks heat up. “I do, too. Like you, I mean,” he muttered.

Tony looked surprised but he recovered quickly; one of his infectious grins spread across his face, one of the grins that made Steve’s stomach flip somersaults and _could probably bring world peace, Steve thought_ , and Steve had no choice but to return a soft smile.

“So, Stevie, what if I said you don’t have to go home tonight?”

Steve looked at Tony curiously. “I kind of have to, I mean, I’ve been wandering around for a while now, I-“

“I’m heading to Queens to drop off Peter at his aunt’s house for the week. Care to keep company with this old fool for a week?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and gesturing to himself.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Tony,” he breathed. “For real?”

Tony grinned another of his impeccable grins, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “How do you feel about Malibu, California?”

* * *

Tony watched as Peter subconsciously grabbed Steve’s hand as the plane descended to the tarmac. Peter had really taken to the golden-haired man, and Tony would be lying if he said he hadn’t, too.

“Peter,” Tony started, “What if I said Steve is gonna be hanging out with us for a bit longer?”

Peter gasped. “Oh my god,” he exclaimed, “the apple juice lady was right!”

Steve froze, and then, as if acting on delayed reflexes, moved to slap a hand over Peter’s mouth. “Don’t you say a word,” Steve warned.

Tony looked very entertained. “Go on,” he prodded Peter with a devilish grin. “Who is the apple juice lady and what did she say?”

Peter perked up. “She said you ’n Steve were-“

 _Of course, the world couldn’t have gone five minutes without embarrassing Steven Grant Rogers_ , Steve thought, because it was at that moment that the flight attendant from earlier came down the aisle.

Tony made googly eyes at Steve, obnoxious googly eyes that Steve translated to mean _is this the apple juice lady, Stevie?_ Steve was ready to punch Tony right over his perfect little smile.

The flight attendant stopped next to Steve’s row with a curious expression as the plane taxied in to a terminal. “Are you sure he’s not your husband, sir?” She peered closely at Steve. “You haven’t like, hit your head or something, right? Because, it just looks like, I’m sorry…,” she trailed off.

“… _married_ ,” Peter finished, a knowing smile etched across his features.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't written anything on here in 2 years but i might actually do another chapter for this one. we'll see. i literally woke up one morning and i wanted to write this so i did. i can be found on tumblr under the same username so come say hi:)


End file.
